


Last Wish

by MagicalStardust



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies), The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: Howard Stark is a ghost, M/M, Translation into English of Dernière Volonté by SoleilBreton, because it be like that sometimes, lots of cameos
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-05-19
Updated: 2019-05-25
Packaged: 2020-03-06 12:40:23
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,261
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18851263
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MagicalStardust/pseuds/MagicalStardust
Summary: Translation of Dernière Volonté by SoleilBreton.Loki is an ordinary Stark Industries' employee. That's until the evening the ghost of his newly dead boss comes to ask for his help.





	1. The Ghost

**Author's Note:**

  * For [FrankiIsObsessed](https://archiveofourown.org/users/FrankiIsObsessed/gifts).
  * A translation of [Dernière Volonté](https://archiveofourown.org/works/9911975) by [SoleilBreton](https://archiveofourown.org/users/SoleilBreton/pseuds/SoleilBreton). 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey guys, this is a translation of SoleilBreton’s 'Dernière Volonté', which can be found at the above link or at https://www.fanfiction.net/s/12380532/1/Dernière-Volonté , so go read one of those if you speak French!  
> It’s a really great fic so I hope you guys enjoy it!
> 
> Also, many thanks to my beta/housemate/best-friend FrankiIsObsessed for checking that the translation makes sense in English and that I haven’t like tried to use French grammar in English or something.  
> I’m pretending this counts as revision for my French-English translation exam haha.  
> I'm not a professional translator, I'm still studying translation, so this won't be perfect, but I'm going to try my hardest to make this as good a translation as possible.
> 
>  
> 
> Soleil Breton’s original and translated a/n:  
> Hello everyone!  
> I’m back again with a new fic, originating from a prompt by (the one, the only!) Obviously Enough. It reads as follows:  
> Loki, an ordinary trader, is harassed by a ghost with a questionable sense of humour who insists that Loki goes to visit his widow to tell her that he regrets leaving her alone, discovers the identity of the ghost’s murderer, leaves to rob the police station because of that, puts the murderer in prison, changes job to take up studying the arts again, and is finally happy without the ghost around.  
> At the start, I was thinking I’d do a short one-shot. Ahahaha. Ah. I’m such an idealist!  
> Equally, I told myself that this wouldn’t be slash. I fought so hard against frostiron, but it refused to let me go. This will therefore be frostiron with a lot of lemons in it (but not immediately, we need to wait for the plot to get started).  
> And, like I did with 'Ténacité' [another one of SoleilBreton’s fics], I’ve changed some of the prompt’s details to make it more interesting.
> 
>  
> 
> 19/05/2019

He had just had the worst day of his life. Okay, no, maybe not the absolute worst day of his life. But definitely his worst day at work. Spending his day attempting to reassure investors and prevent a substantial fall in share prices was not his definition of a good day at work.

Consequently, he was understandably irritable and vindictive. He had shouted at his secretary twice and had dealt badly with his PA. To make things worse, he was almost certain he’d made her cry, though she could still tell him that the tears were because of the circumstances, that they were due to sadness rather than stress.

It was almost eight o'clock at night, and he was still in his office, preparing for the emergency meetings that would take place the next day. A tab open on his computer showed him each article that related to the morning’s catastrophe. Other tabs displayed the day’s stock exchange and the inevitable plummeting of Stark Industries’ shares, still more assessed lost assets and wasted capital. And it was up to him to compile everything for the next day, while everyone else went home. He was handling it though. He _had_ volunteered for this.

Stark Industries was one of the biggest multinational corporations in the world. Perhaps the biggest, though that depended on the time of year. It was neck and neck with Wal-Mart and the State Grid Corporation of China, each of them specialising in a different area. Wal-Mart was wholesale, SGCC was energy distribution and Stark Industries was cutting-edge technology for just about everything. With turnovers of hundreds of billions of dollars, the smallest disruption in the stock exchange could have disastrous consequences for sales, revenue and jobs. He would not be surprised if the board of directors, in front of whom he was going to make tomorrow’s presentation, decided on social plans (read: severance schemes) for around the globe.

Social plans. As if there was anything social about closing a factory and laying off thousands of workers. He left himself a reminder to start doing a report into potentially weaker, and therefore disposable, facilities.

It has to be said that Loki was ambitious. Though he had started off as a mere execution trader in a soulless open-plan office, he had swiftly risen through the ranks. And when he said swiftly, well, he was only 26 years old and Head of Financial Analysis. He had known how to take advantage of company members’ setbacks and of each fault, to advance, to leave the open-plan office in which he’d never belonged.

He had big aspirations, he was extremely intelligent, and he understood the human psyche better than anyone else. This was what was making him someone more and more indispensable to Stark Industries. This morning’s catastrophe could only benefit him, at least in the short term. Perhaps he could become vice-president? After all a place would be freed up before long. He wanted to fill that place. To have his own office just below the top floor. To have power. It was his driving force.

It was quarter past ten at night. He yawned. His intercom beeped. His order of Chinese food would be a change from Thai, or pizzas. Delivery guys weren’t allowed to come this far into the building so a security guard brought the takeout up to him.

He decided to give himself a break. Eating whilst working was not really a good idea, and in any case he wanted coffee. So he left his office. Some of his colleagues were still there, but they wouldn’t be for much longer.

On his way to the break room he passed an huge chart that showed the hierarchy of CEO, presidents, vice presidents and directors of the New York headquarters, the faces of each gloriously displayed next to their titles. The photo of Howard Stark had yet to be taken down, but a black strip had been added to its right corner during the day.

A car accident. It was ridiculously stupid, horribly banal for a man who had built his name and his fortune off of his own eccentricities. Some people had already asked if his son, Anthony, would take up his father’s torch, but Loki already knew the answer to that. Anthony Stark was not made to be the CEO of a multinational corporation. While he did overwhelm the R and D department with more or less dazzling ideas (the Starkphone and the Starkpad had been nothing less than strokes of genius, and his desire to launch himself into the clean energy sector had given the company a real boost several years earlier), but Howard Stark’s son was better known for being a jet-setter, gambler, playboy, and the worst manager in the world.

The Board of Directors was never going to want this man to become the head of Stark Industries, even if he did own 51 percent of the business.

No, the future CEO of Stark Industries was definitely going to be the president of SI-Europe, the oldest of Stark’s associates, Obadiah Stane. This man was a cross between a shark, a fox and a snake. Next to Stane, Loki was a small fry, hardly worth any notice. They weren’t even close to playing in the same court.

He entered the large break room. With a sizeable fridge-freezer, coffee-makers that never ran out, cupboards that were regularly filled with biscuits rich in sugars, armchairs, tables, and an enormous television that was always turned on to a 24 hour news channel, it was the nicest room on the floor. He set a coffee machine going, sat down on one of the comfortable leather armchairs and began to eat. He allowed himself a short laugh, remembering his brother trying in vain to eat with chopsticks, his large, clumsy hands unsuited for the task.

His break only lasted until his coffee was ready. He tipped the boiling liquid into a large thermos with his name on it, closed it, binned the greasy paper napkins that he had left on the table, then returned to his office. His mind was racing, looking for perspectives that he hadn’t already implemented for his report the next day.

Upon entering the shadowy room he just managed not to jump when he made out a silhouette.

“Can I help you?” he asked, turning on the light.

But he couldn’t say anything else. The man in front of Loki’s desk was _floating_ , literally, some inches from the ground. And he was _translucent_.  The figure turned to face him, and despite the fact that he could see the wall opposite him through the man’s face, Loki recognised him without difficulty.

“Are you Loki Borson?” Howard Stark demanded, or at least the translucent, floating figure that looked exactly like Howard Stark did.

Loki remained with his mouth open for several seconds before nodding his head, definitely not trusting his vocal chords.

“Good. I need your help.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> SoleilBreton’s original a/n: It’s very short, I know, but I promise the next chapters will be longer  
> Tell me what you thought of it. Yes, you there, behind your screen. I see you :)
> 
>  
> 
> My a/n: I can’t see you because I’m not quite as creepy as Soleil, but please do tell me what you thought, whether about plot or writing style or if you enjoyed it etc. translating something takes a lot of effort so I’d be pretty grateful.
> 
> Next up: Howard tries to convince Loki to help him  
> Loki refuses and tries to pretend he doesn’t exist
> 
> Given that I'm pretending this is revision for my translation exam and I've already translated the next one and a half chapters, the next chapter should be up over the next few days.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Howard tries to convince Loki that he's real and he needs help.  
> Loki isn't having it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My author's note: Heya, I hope you guys enjoy this chapter!
> 
> Also, as I forgot to say in the first chapter, this fic has been tagged as explicit, but rest assured I will warn you guys about the explicit parts in case you don’t want to read them. I’ll also give warnings about potential triggers if/when necessary.
> 
> I'll post author's notes from SoleilBreton if they're relevant to you guys.
> 
> 25/05/19

“Y-you’re dead,” Loki stammered.

“A very insightful observation, Mr Borson,” said Stark sarcastically. “My death _is_  all over the news.”

“I’m asleep, aren’t I?” said Loki, who was just beginning to think he’d gone crazy. “I fell asleep in the break room. That’s the only explanation. You can’t be here, and I can’t be in the middle of talking to you.”

Stark rolled his eyes, seeming to glare at the ceiling.

“No, Mr Borson, you are not asleep, and yes, I am a ghost. You can pinch yourself as many times as you want, but I’ll still need your help.”

“I don’t believe in ghosts,” Loki retorted dryly. “I can’t do anything for you. You should see Erik Selvig in accounting, he swears that he saw the angel of death visiting his mother in hospital last week. I’m sure he’ll be delighted to help you.”

“Unfortunately, that won't be possible,” Stark replied. “Once dead, a ghost can only appear to a single person  and they don’t get a choice about who. Someone up there probably thinks it’s very funny, but if I'd have had a choice, know that I'd have preferred my wife or son.”

“And why do you need help?” Loki asked, giving in.

“To put my killer behind bars, of course.”

“You died in a car accident,” said Loki.

“Basically. But Obadiah Stane took great care to sabotage my brakes several hours earlier. Well, he sent someone to do it for him. After all, he doesn’t like to get his own hands dirty.”

“Obadiah Stane?” Loki choked out. “Your best friend?”

“Good God, Borson! I thought you were smart! A man in my position doesn’t make friends, especially not with people like Obadiah Stane.”

“He’s still your oldest business partner,” Loki argued. “Spending that much time with someone forges a bond, doesn’t it?”

“Obviously,” replied Stark. “But I’ve always had the impression that Obadiah is… what's the word now? A sociopath. Or a psychopath. Anyway, I’ve always known that he wasn’t normal, that he didn’t have emotions like other people.”

“Whatever. My answer is still no. It’s eleven o’clock at night, I’ve still not finished my summary presentation for tomorrow, which has fallen to me to do, might I just add, because of your crap…”

“Hey! Have a bit of respect young man!” Stark exclaimed. “I _am_ your boss.”

“In fact, you’re not. You haven’t been for several hours now,” Loki shot back, smirking. “You're  _dead_.”

Loki sat smugly down at his desk, picked up his big mug of coffee, and applied himself to the task in front of him. He waited for Stark to interrupt again, to talk to him about his murderer or some other thing, to beg, to find some other way to convince him. But no. The ghost stayed in a corner of the room, behind Loki, and, after a bit, Loki began to forget about him.

“You’re very efficient,” Stark said a while later, surprising the young man.

“I’d almost managed to convince myself that you were a dream,” Loki muttered.

“Ignore the great Howard Stark at your peril,” he retorted, his tone prideful and humorous at the same time. It sounded like something which would have been said a lot, and not necessarily by him. His see-through figure approached the desk and read the computer screens over Loki's shoulder.

“It would be a shame to have to close our risk-analysis offices in Dublin.”

“Which ones should be closed instead then? Lyon's? The French have tougher redundancy legislation. Closing them will take months. But, if we close Dublin, we can reopen other offices in Dubai in six to twelve weeks. During this time, we quietly skim Lyon, then, when it’s obvious that the French offices haven become worryingly useless, we close them, with sentimental press releases explaining that we did everything to try to save the jobs, but we don’t have another choice. Next, we ceremoniously announce the reopening of the Irish offices. All of that done in two years. It’s longer, but more economical in the long term, and it will keep the company's public image in a good light."

“Well thought out. Cold. Cynical. Just what Stark Industries likes.”

“But not you?”

“Oh me, I’m not remotely interested by the human side of things. First and foremost I’m an inventor. The inventions need to sell well, though. Anthony is like me, he always has ideas floating around in his head. But you need more than that to sell things successfully. Why do you think that I’ve kept Stane a part of this company for so long ? He’s efficient. Fucking efficient. Genius inventions don’t make money on their own. Stane has the knack. He could sell you trombones and make you believe they were a new revolutionary invention.”

Loki tried to drink his coffee again, forgetting that he had finished his mug some minutes earlier. He swore and returned to the break room to make another. He swore again when he saw that Stark had followed him.

“You don’t have to stick to me like glue,” he muttered, waiting for his coffee to finish brewing.

“True,” the translucent man said. “But seeing as you’re the only person I can communicate with I’d prefer not to lose you.”

Loki didn’t choose to deign that with a response. It was much too late to speak with a spirit who wasn’t even real. He’d probably had a psychotic breakdown and this was him dealing with the consequences.

He worked for most of the night. The good thing about having someone else with him was that when he began to drop off Stark didn’t hesitate to say something that would wake him up. Apart from that, the phantom was very unobtrusive. Loki finished his different reports at four o’clock in the morning on the dot. He got a blanket out of the cupboard, placed a cushion on his office's sofa, and allowed himself a bit of rest before trading activities started up again. The Board meeting would start at a quarter past eight, and the New York stock exchange would open at nine thirty. Consequently, he would have to be up at seven in order to have enough time to get changed.

This wasn’t the first time that Loki had spent the night on his sofa. There wasn’t anyone at home to grumble or throw a fit if he didn’t return, and so he didn’t stop himself from staying the night. If he had to pull a couple of all-nighters to advance his career, then, why not? He turned on the alarm on his phone and quickly fell asleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> SoleilBreton’s a/n: So, we know a bit more about the circumstances of Howard’s death.  
> How will the ghost and Loki stand being together all the time?  
> Will they manage to put Stane behind bars?  
> When will FrostIron start?
> 
> All of that (and much more) will be revealed in the next episodes!  
> (While waiting, you could speculate in the comments!)
> 
>  
> 
> My a/n: please do speculate! I hope you guys are enjoying this!
> 
> Next up: Loki meets Tony, and the Board of Directors, and Stane.


End file.
